Tea For Clara
by Crownfall
Summary: Clara is British. Clara cannot sleep. Therefore, Clara drinks tea. (And the Doctor eats chicken.)


Tea For Clara

"I NEED my bedroom!" Clara shouts in frustration. "I don't care if the Doctor is creepily obsessed with you; that doesn't give you the right to keep me from my bed. I am his companion, and a human, at that, so I do actually need to sleep six hours a day, thanks very much. So why don't you shove your pride _up your time rotor_ and GIVE ME MY BEDROO–"

"Blimey, you're making a racket in here!"

The Doctor is up as always, and tonight there is a dead, plucked chicken in his hand.

"Do you hold_ livestock_ on the TARDIS?" Clara asks suspiciously.

"No, I got this from my mate Alexander the Great," the Doctor says as though it is obvious. "Funny bloke, he was. What an interesting fellow."

Clara pauses, frowning at the chicken. Deciding to not even ask any further, she sighs and slaps the console, which the TARDIS responds to with a disgruntled whirr.

"I'm going to find my bedroom. Again. Good night, Doctor," she says, her words short and sharp. She is pissed off beyond belief. This can't go on any longer.

To her surprise, the TARDIS has manipulated the corridor such that Clara's bedroom is the first door to appear. She smiles. Maybe there is a _slight _possibility of a small chance that Clara may, at _some_ point, _begin_ to get along with the TARDIS. It is a ray of hope for her.

She opens the door tentatively, and, finding everything in place, exclaims in delight. With a spring in her step, she bounds towards her lovely, warm bed and collapses upon it.

Two hours later, Clara frowns.

"You're doing this, aren't you?"

She sits up in her bed, the sheets tangled around her legs after about one hundred and twenty minutes of restless turning. Folding her arms, she faces the ceiling.

"You are, aren't you? You _sneaky…_ ship," she hisses.

It's only been two hours since the TARDIS took pity on poor Clara and showed her the way to her own bedroom, and Clara is already pissed off again. Whatever position she gets in, she is comfortable at first, but then the bed beneath her seems to harden in the worst places or soften terribly where her head is, so that her head is slanted _downwards_.

"I am so done with you!" she growls. Angrily throwing the sheets onto the floor, she stumbles unsteadily out of her bedroom and makes her way to the galley.

Clara is overrun with fatigue but there is so much fury churning away in her to keep her going. She bursts into the galley, her legs spread and chin raised like a fearsome baddie.

The empty galley stares back at her. Clara sighs, disappointed.

On the kitchen table, steam floats up from a mug. Upon closer inspection, it turns about to be a cup of warm chamomile tea, which is exactly what Clara wanted.

She narrows her eyes suspiciously at the walls and takes a tentative sniff of the cup. Smells alright… She hesitates, and then sips a bit.

This tea is the greatest thing she has ever known.

Exhaling in pleasure, Clara takes a seat on the stool. Closing her eyes, she drinks the tea and rubs the kitchen bench affectionately in thanks.

"Oh, hello Clara!" the Doctor greets enthusiastically. Clara opens her eyes and finds a cooked chicken drumstick in his hand.

"That poor chicken," she says, pouting.

"Having a nice cup of tea, are we?" he asks with an excited grin, then bites into the chicken. It seems to be good, because the Doctor groans in happiness.

"Yep!" Clara replies, all cheerful now. "Just doing what the British do in times of crisis… drinking tea. You know, it's a wonder how comforting a cup of tea can be."

"Yes, I suspect so!" the Doctor agrees after he has chewed his mouthful. "The warmth of a teacup mimics the warmth of a human hand, which is a great alternative to real human contact and affection." And the Doctor takes another bite of his chicken as though he hasn't said the most depressing thing in the world.

Clara pouts and drinks her tea. "That's horrible. I've got no human friends and all I have is this bloody cup of… of _leaf water_."

"_Tasty_ leaf water," the Doctor amends.

"Shut it, you," Clara says, though she is smiling. "Trust you to exploit how much of a loner I am."

"Ah, come here!" the Doctor says, opening his arms wide and grinning invitingly. Clara puts down her leaf water and hugs the Doctor, laughing.

"Thanks, Doctor," she says after pulling away. "I needed that. Especially since TARDIS has purposefully been making my bed uncomfortable."

The Doctor sets his jaw, puts one hand on his hip and points accusingly at the ceiling. "Now, Sexy. Don't be mean to little Clara. Let her sleep, alright? Fun's over. I don't need her snoring while we're in the middle of running for our lives, okay?" the Doctor reprimands the TARDIS, who makes a little sulking noise. He pats her affectionately.

Clara laughs. They sit at the kitchen bench, and the Doctor eats his chicken, and Clara drinks her beautiful leaf water. Then she goes to bed and sleeps a sound, long sleep.

_END_

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a/n: Hello, world! I haven't posted a story since... actually, I never have... so I thought I might as well start with something short and simple. Just a cute little oneshot inspired by that post on Tumblr about leaf water. Hopefully you enjoyed this! Thanks for reading! x


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